


Night of Heavy Rain

by Elenyafinwe



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drabble, Drabble story, Gen, Pre-Lord of The Rings, Pre-War of the Ring, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25463044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe
Summary: [Inspired by Once Upon a Troubardour by Nightwish] In a rainy night, Dúnadan Halbarad enters an inn somewhere in the wilderness and meets the barmaid. She doesn't seem special at first glance, but he takes a closer look. [Drabble Story]
Relationships: Halbarad (Tolkien)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Night of Heavy Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Regenschwere Nacht](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828753) by [Elenyafinwe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenyafinwe/pseuds/Elenyafinwe). 



> The following text is a translation of my little text Regenschwere Nacht. Since translations from German to English tent to become shorter these are no longer exactly drabbles. To be honest I thought it to much effort for this little text to edit the translation back to drabbles.

The night was dark and cold, rain fell in torrents and soaked everything and everyone. The streets of the nameless village somewhere in the wilderness were nothing but muddy streams and hardly passable. One sank into the mud up to above one's ankles, progress was hardly possible and only with effort. At this time and in these weather conditions nobody was still voluntarily on the streets. Everything had retreated to the shelter of the poor huts and stables. If the rain would continue for a long time, it would still be harmful for the harvest.

Only one was still to be seen on the streets.

He was a sturdily built man, no more than a tattered, overgrown figure. His cape was torn and dirty, his beard wild and his hair tangled. He was a Dúnadan. Halbarad, they called him.

With a grumpy face he fought his way forward and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself, even if it was of little use; he had been soaked to the bones for a long time. He froze, which was no wonder. Single-mindedly he headed for a longhouse in the center of the village. Even in the most deserted wilderness there was still a taproom. Light came out of the small windows.

This was his goal.

Warm air and loud voices sloshed towards him and for a short time he felt exhausted outside after the terrible autumn weather. He shook his head, then it was all right again. A trail of rainwater behind him he entered. Immediately it became quieter, suspicious looks were given to him. Of course, he was a ranger, a wandering man, nowhere to be found.

"Ranger," someone muttered dismissively.

He ignored the man who stank of alcohol and retreated to the darkest corner he could find. Here he could smoke his pipe in peace and quiet and was not disturbed by the others.

Then he saw her.

She was a barmaid, a girl of barely twenty years of age, who handed out the food and offered other services at night to earn a few extra coins. Her face was dirty, her look sad, and yet her beauty was unmistakable.

Her dress was plain and gave the impression of grace, especially since it was too low-cut for Halbarad's taste. Poor girl.

She came to him now, obviously she felt uncomfortable in his presence. He could not blame her.

"What do you want?" she asked softly.

"What you want." He smiled friendly.

She frowned in a delightful way, which immediately brought him an honest smile. Since he did not specify his order, she continued to do her work dutifully and looked for something to eat in the kitchen. With an empty smile she brought him a thin, lukewarm soup and then went on to other work.

Lost in thought, Halbarad spooned up his food and watched the girl. Some drunkard demanded a song and pushed her to make her sing. She let the rough treatment pass over her without complaint and grabbed a lute.

Then she began to sing and play.

The Dúnadan was enchanted. He had never heard such beautiful singing before. The girl was as if she had changed as she reached for her lute and let her gentle, delicate fingers slide over the strings. A subtle melody filled the taproom, making everyone here mute.

He watched the girl's playing with fascination. Was she really just a human being or was she perhaps of elven blood? He had never heard anything like it before, never in all his long journeys. The music made him forget all the strains and dangers of his journey.

In this moment it was all over for him.

Never again on his travels did Halbarad forget the girl with the sad eyes and that beautiful voice. She never left his mind, for it was more than pity that he felt for her. One day he would take her to a better place.

Until that day came, he searched this little nameless village as often as he could and stopped at the inn. Maybe the girl was really grateful for his company, maybe he just imagined it.

Then the Great Years came and Halbarad moved south with the Grey Company.


End file.
